Poetry By
David M. Harris
Published on: 7/6/2015
Old Timer
He sits in his big chair— the comfortable one, bought long ago to ease his back when he turned fifty— and stays in touch with the times, with The Times, neatly folded, trying to unfold old words newly unfamiliar— to keyboard, to mouse, to friend-- and tries to rescue the memories of what will soon have been a Golden Age.
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